"Why, Munsher D'Himecourt, Mazaro's been keepin' me away from heer with
a yarn about two Spaniards watchin' for me. That's what I came in to ask
ye about. My dear sur, do ye s'pose I wud talk about the goddess--I
mean, yer daughter--to the likes o' Mazaro--I say to the likes o'
Mazaro?"

To say the old man was at sea would be too feeble an expression--he was
in the trough of the sea, with a hurricane of doubts and fears whirling
around him. Somebody had told a lie, and he, having struck upon its
sunken surface, was dazed and stunned. He opened his lips to say he knew
not what, when his ear caught the voice of Manuel Mazaro, replying to
the greeting of some of his comrades outside the front door.

"He is comin'!" cried the old man. "Mague you'sev hide, Madjor; do not
led 'im kedge you, Mon Dieu!"

The Irishman smiled.

"The little yellow wretch!" said he quietly, his blue eyes dancing. "I'm
goin' to catch _him_."

A certain hidden hearer instantly made up her mind to rush out between
the two young men and be a heroine.

"_Non, non!_" exclaimed M. D'Hemecourt excitedly. "Nod in de Café des
Exilés--nod now, Madjor. Go in dad door, hif you pliz, Madjor. You will
heer 'im w'at he 'ave to say. Mague you'sev de troub'. Nod dad door--diz
one."

The Major laughed again and started toward the door indicated, but in an